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The Lord, The Lady and The Long Winter | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Chapter 2/5?: The Wolf of the North

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 - Comming soon

Cregan Stark x House Baratheon Reader

One or more parts in this story will include the following:

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW}, smut, minors DNI, new relationship, arguments, harsh words,longing, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another 🚨SLOW BURN🚨

Summary: You’re betrothed to Cregan Stark. The pair of you navigate this relationship of convenience and perhaps even find love.

Word Count: 3,317

*Not my Gif

A/N RANT: I find writing easy. I just splat ideas down on the page. It’s the editing that really gets me. I spend so much time deleting and rewriting, googling synonyms because somehow I’ve managed to use the same word 4,000 times in the last twenty sentences. Agonising over the wording and then Word for some reason trying to make me spell things in american. Then the grammar actually sends me over the edge, Word telling me that there should be a comma, so I add a comma and then no that’s wrong there shouldn’t be a comma there. It actually makes me go feral. Anyway, if anyone wonders why it takes me so long to post more parts, these are some of the reasons.

Chapter 1

It had taken a little over a month for your father and your entourage to reach the castle of Winterfell. As you journeyed, the number of layers and furs you wore in the carriage increased, each piece a necessary defence against the northern chill. It was the last day of the trip, and you were thankful it had finally come to an end, eager to sleep in the same bed for more than one night in a row. You stepped up into the carriage and turned to your father, who was already seated, his expression one of calm reassurance. "Almost there," he said, his voice steady as he attempted a smile.

You averted your gaze, sitting down and looking out at the landscape that unfolded outside. A heavy blanket of snow cloaked the ground, transforming the world into a vast, seamless expanse of white. The trees stood tall and skeletal, their branches laden with frost that sparkled like diamonds in the weak and low winter sun. Occasionally, the wind howled through the barren branches, sending a shiver down your spine and creating an eerie symphony that filled the otherwise still air.

The world outside seemed lifeless, devoid of colour and warmth—how you longed for the vibrant greens and the golden hues of the south, of home. You hadn’t seen an animal for more than a week, and the silence felt oppressive, magnifying the sense of isolation that you felt. Your mind wandered to what your sisters would be doing right now, likely studying or playing in the garden with your mother watching sewing something beautiful as she always was. A lump formed in your throat as you thought about how long it would be until you saw them again. This new landscape was as much a part of your new life as your upcoming marriage; it revealed in its stark beauty but also served as a constant reminder of the challenges that lay ahead. With the shutter closed, you felt a growing knot of anxiety within you, the weight of the impending changes heavy as the snow that blanketed the ground.

At some point, you had fallen asleep, though you couldn't recall when. The anticipation of the day had kept you awake through most of the night, and the uncomfortable seat of the carriage left your body aching. But then, the resounding blast of trumpets heralding your arrival jolted you from your sleep.

“Are we here?" you asked, glancing at your father, whose expression was distant, as if lost in thought.

"Yes," he replied, turning his gaze to meet yours.

"How long do we have before meeting the Starks?" you asked, smoothing your clothes and hoping the nap hadn’t left your hair in disarray.

"Lord Stark will greet us as soon as we step out of the carriage," your father replied, straightening in his seat.

"What? Aren’t we meeting in the hall after we've freshened up?" you exclaimed, taken aback by the immediacy, realising just how soon you'd face the man who’d share your future.

"Ah, but they're Northerners," your father said with a dismissive wave, "They'd find you lovely even in rags." The carriage lurched forward, jolting you both, as your heart raced.

You thought you would have just a little more time, a chance to gather your thoughts and brace yourself for the momentous introduction. Panic rose inside you as it became clear you had mere minutes before meeting the man who would be your husband.

Your heart raced with a flurry of questions and doubts. Would he be as the tales described—harsh and unyielding as the Northern winters—or might there be warmth beneath the layers of fur and Stoic silence? The uncertainties swirled, each more daunting than the last, wrapping around your thoughts like a relentless blizzard.

You fidgeted with the edge of your cloak, trying to calm the rising tide of unease. What if your mannerisms seemed too foreign, your presence too delicate for the rugged North? At this moment, you realised your entire future might rely on one singular, daunting introduction.

You focused on your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale slowly to five, as your mother had taught you to do in moments of unease. Her voice echoed in your mind, recounting stories of Lord Cregan Stark and how he had become the embodiment of his house’s strength. At just seventeen, he had fought for power against his uncle, rallying the North to his cause and earning the legendary title of the Wolf of the North.

Now, at twenty-five, he was widely renowned as the most powerful man in the region, with whispers even calling him the King in the North. His influence stretched far, untethered by the intricacies of southern politics. In the refuge of your measured breathing, you hoped to draw some comfort from the formidable reputation of the man who would soon become your husband. Could a man so brilliant at war be kind?

The carriage came to a rest, jolting you back to the present, you looked at your father, who attempted to give you a reassuring nod as the door of the carriage swung open. He moved through it first, giving you a precious few moments to prepare yourself before he turned and extended his hand inside the carriage to help you out and down.

The cold hit you first, making you draw a sharp breath, the icy air burning your lungs. For a brief moment, you looked around and watched as snowflakes danced in the chilled air, touching gently on Winterfell's ancient stone façade. You stepped out, the snow crunching beneath your feet, you were thankful for your father's firm grasp on your hand, worried for a moment that without it, you would slip.

The northern air was sharp and invigorating, a biting chill that seemed to permeate the very fabric of everything it touched. It was the kind of cold that, if endured for too long, would nestle deep into your bones, leaving a lingering reminder of the North’s untamed power. Pulling your thick cloak more tightly around yourself, you sought its warmth and comfort, a shield against the relentless chill.

Your father stepped forward with the practiced grace of his station, turning to address the Northerners who had assembled to witness your arrival.

"Greetings House Stark, I am Lord Borros Baratheon, of the House Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End. I have come to present to you, my daughter." His voice was, steady and confident. It carried over the soft whisper of the wind, acknowledging the strength of the Northern families and the significance of the union that would soon bind Baratheon and Stark.

He turned to you and gestured for you to step forwards, and you did, curtseying to the group. Your eyes swept over the crowd of Northerners—a sea of rugged faces hardened by the winter landscape. And there he stood, amidst them, undeniably Cregan Stark. His towering form was enveloped in commanding furs, every inch the lord who embodied the unforgiving north. He looked younger than you thought he would, hearing stories of how the north aged you beyond your years made you worried about what you would be confronted with up getting here.

Cregan stepped forward with an elegant grace, offering a formal bow. Yet, the warmth in his eyes spoke an unspoken promise of understanding and curiosity.

"Welcome to Winterfell," his voice resonated, deep and steady, his accent thick.

Your father and Cregan began discussing the plans for the coming days, their voices a steady hum amidst the towering stone walls of Winterfell. You followed closely behind them, the chill of the Northern air slowly giving way to the warmth of the hall, its fires crackling and casting flickering shadows that danced across the ancient stone.

Eventually, you found your place on a chair, one of many surrounding a small table strewn with maps and parchments that detailed the intricacies of alliances and strategies. The gathering of lords settled into their respective seats, enveloping the table in a sense of purpose and gravitas. Your father leaned forward, engaged in discussions about the expectations of this union, emphasising duty and honour—the very fabric of noble life.

As they spoke, a few lords occasionally cast friendly glances in your direction, but you could sense the unspoken rules that governed the conversation. This was not the sort of assembly where women were expected to voice their thoughts; instead, you listened intently, absorbing the dialogue around you. It was both fascinating and daunting, a whirlwind of responsibilities that felt far removed from the warmth of family gatherings you had known.

You were taken aback that they allowed you to sit at the table at all, a privilege that your father would never have granted you in the South. Perhaps the customs were different in the North, a notion that intrigued and unsettled you. As your gaze wandered around the assembly, it landed on one woman at the table—until that moment, you hadn't realised she was among them.

Dressed in masculine attire, she seemed to blend right in with the lords surrounding her, sitting tall and confident as they addressed her with the same respect reserved for their male counterparts. It was a striking sight, one that momentarily pulled you from your anxious thoughts about the future.

Then, the unexpected happened; she caught your eye and offered a warm smile that brightened her otherwise stern countenance. Heat rose to your cheeks as you realised you had been staring. Quickly, you turned your attention back to Cregan, the man you were to marry, feeling the weight of the room around you as you grappled with the complexities of your new reality.

Cregan Stark was a striking figure to behold, towering head and shoulders above your father, making it instantly clear why others held him in such high esteem. His presence conveyed more than mere physical stature; as soon as he began to speak, his demeanour and the way he carried himself revealed the essence of a man of honour. Unlike the tall men of the South, who seemed like a gust of wind might send them hurtling over the battlements into the sea, Cregan's stature was built broad and firm.

The cloak draped over his shoulders only added to his impressive build, yet you could tell at a glance that this was a physique forged through hard work and rigorous training, not by indulgence in luxuries. Every movement hinted at discipline and strength, an embodiment of the Northern spirit you had heard so much about.

Your eyes focused intently on his face as he spoke, captivated by the way his shoulder-length brown hair framed his features, catching the light to highlight the rugged lines that undeniably spoke of his Northern lineage. Cregan had a strong jaw, lending a chiseled quality to his visage that perfectly complemented the air of unyielding determination he exuded.

But it was his piercing blue eyes that truly drew you in—striking and deep, they seemed to hold an entire world within them. In contrast to the often stark demeanour he carried, those eyes contained an unexpected warmth, like a flickering flame against the cold backdrop of winter. There was a kindness in their depths, a silent promise that perhaps beneath the fierce exterior lay a man capable of tenderness and understanding. With every glance, you felt the pull of his gaze, an invitation to see beyond the bravado and discover the complexities that made him who he was.

He turned and met your eye, and it took you a second to realise that he had asked you a question, you looked around the room at the lords. All poised to listen to your response. You looked to your father for guidance.

"You'll have to excuse my daughter, the journey north has been long. However, I do think that she has enough strength left to accept your suggestion of a tour of Winterfell." he smiled at Lord Stark, who looked from you to your father, an understanding smile playing on his lips as he worked out you hadn't been paying attention.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t expose your lapse in concentration, just stood and shook your father's hand. You stood too as all the other lords stood and moved towards the door. You watched as they filtered out of the room, your father and Cregan being the only two aside from yourself still left in the room.

"Well, I would say that no chaperone is required, it is said that no one in the realms have as much honour as the Starks." your father said, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked between the two of you.

He nodded and gave you a small smile and turned to leave the room, the guards at the door opening and closing the door. You felt the resounding boom of the door closing in your chest as it seemed to echo around the entire room. The room seemed smaller as you looked from the door to Lord Stark, he looked so much more intimidating now it was only you in the room.

"My Lady, what part of Winterfell would you like to see first?" he asked stepping towards you.

"I- I don’t know." you whispered, finding it too difficult to look him in the eye.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to your cloak which you had removed and placed on the back of your chair.

You nodded, he carefully picked it up and placed it over your shoulders, you moved your hands to do up the buckle that would secure it to your body and turned to Lord Stark. The massive sword slung across his back caught your attention, its hilt visible above his shoulder—a symbol of the strength and legends whispered in the halls of your childhood home. It seemed a natural extension of him—an embodiment of Cregan Stark, the warrior and the lord.

He smiled down at you, warmth and friendliness lighting up his features. With a gentle tilt of his eyebrow, he extended his elbow towards you, inviting you to take it.

"Well, I shall show you my favourite parts of the castle, and then we'll join your father and the other lords for a late tea," he said, his deep voice smooth and rich, like honey.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, as you took his hand and allowed him to guide you out of the room. Agreeing to marry someone you had never met was undoubtedly a gamble, fraught with uncertainties. Yet, with this match, a sense of hopefulness stirred within you—a feeling as if you had struck gold in a world tarnished by rusted steel.

Your thoughts drifted back to the moment you first learned of your betrothal. That night, your mother had remained by your side, holding you close as you cried, part of you mourning your childhood and the other terrified of the future. She assured you that everything would be alright, words you initially dismissed as just the comforting words you say to someone when they're crying.

But now, with time and distance, you started to see that moment in a different light. There was a certainty in her voice that had been unwavering, and it made you wonder if she had played a part in your match with Lord Stark. Her confidence lingered in your mind, suggesting that perhaps this match carried more promise than you dared to imagine in those initial, tear-filled moments.

Winterfell was a beautiful castle, said to be one of the oldest still standing. As Cregan showed you around, you noticed something different in the way he spoke. Unlike most men, who seemed more interested in proving themselves smarter than you by belittling or over-explaining, Lord Stark had a unique approach.

His way of speaking about the castle and its history felt more like listening to a passionate teacher than a rehearsed lecture. He engaged you with stories, making each tale and detail come alive, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of respect and curiosity grow within you. It was refreshing and made you appreciate not only Winterfell, but also the man guiding you through its storied halls.

He had suggested that the two of you look out over the battlements before retiring to the great hall for something to eat. The climb up to the battlements was more challenging than you had anticipated. The stairs were far narrower than any you had navigated at Storm's End, making you marvel at how men clad in armour could swiftly manoeuvre them during times of war. Yet, as you reached the top, the sight that greeted you was nothing short of breathtaking—a vast, snowy landscape stretching as far as the eye could see. There was a vast expanse of forest in the distance, but even that was coated in snow.

Your home back in Storm's End prided itself on its massive walls for protection against invaders. However, here at Winterfell, the tall walls paired with its isolated, formidable position in the North presented a different kind of strength. The harsh, unforgiving landscape surrounding Winterfell seemed an ally to its defenders, an icy gauntlet capable of claiming the lives of unprepared southern soldiers long before they could even reach the walls. The beauty and latent power of the scene sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the resilience required to thrive in this raw and rugged part of the world.

"There is a small moat hidden by the snow at the bottom of the wall," Cregan began, his gaze shifting to you with a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he was sharing a secret of the North only a few were privy to. "If aren't aware of it and attempt to climb the wall, you sink into snow taller than a man."

You withdrew your hand from the warmth of your fur muff, moving to grasp the metal handle fixed to the wall, hoping to steady yourself for a better view over the battlements. The chill of the metal immediately shot through your fingers, contrasting sharply with the cozy warmth of the muff.

"Agh," you gasped, yanking your hand away from the frigid metal.

Before you could even check for injury, Cregan Stark's gloved hand enveloped yours with a surprising gentleness. He looked down at your hand, his thumb softly brushing across your palm, sending a tingle through your skin. "Careful, My Lady," he murmured, his voice carrying a deep, soothing timbre. "Warm hands stick to cold metal. You could lose some skin if you're not careful."

You grimaced at the thought and glanced back at the metal, reassuring yourself that none of your skin lingered there. "It burns,” you whispered, eyes dropping to the red mark on your palm.

Cregan's gaze met yours, holding a mix of concern and something unspoken. He raised his hand to his mouth, biting the finger of his glove and pulling it off, his breath misting in the cold air. He placed his large, now bare hand over yours, its warmth seeping through your skin, soothing the sting of the cold. His touch seemed to linger longer than necessary, then he removed his hand from yours and pulled the glove from his mouth.

"Careful my Lady, the cold burns sometimes more than fire." He remarked, eyes locked on yours, before slipping his hand back into the glove with deliberate care. "We ought to get you some gloves." His voice carried both practicality and an undercurrent of tenderness that surprised you.

He offered his arm once more, and this time, as you looped your arm around his, the touch felt more intimate, more charged. You tucked your hand back into your fur muff, your hand still feeling the ghost of his.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark #hotd #hotd fanfic #Lord stark #hotd cregan #fanfic #slow burn #i wrote this for me #winterfell #cregan fanfiction #cregan smut #house baratheon

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love-byers · 2 days ago

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Hi, I first want to say that I absolutely enjoy reading all your analysis! About Mike's monologue, I'm kinda playing the devil's advocate here, the actual line in the script is: "And I knew somehow then -- in that moment -- that I loved you." That's definitely better than "I knew right there and then", this was actually Finn paraphrasing, and yes they chose to keep it, but I don't think we should analyze that line that much when it's not even what the writers initially wrote.

I'm a Byler who believes Mike truly loved El, but this is a story of learning to let go of your first love. And Finn kinda confirmed that to me in his recent answers. It's a first love vs right love story.

Also, another interesting thing I found. The script says "But I am scared…that one day, you'll realize -- you don’t really need me." He says it like it's a fact: El doesn't really need him, that's not even a question. Mike is not scared of the eventuality of El not needing him, he's scared of her realizing that she doesn't. He knows deep down this love isn't right. Just like he said in the initial van scene script: "She's already beginning to understand she doesn't need me. I saw it -- I saw it in her eyes, that last time we talked."

To me, Mike has to learn to let go of his first love, El, in order to let in the right love, Will.

thank you!! :)

i don't rlly see how those lines are any different, the wording and addition of "somehow" doesn't change anything or make it better. it's still a statement, not a hyperbole, and a lie. the "in that moment" is the nail in the coffin. it pin points his realization on that moment specifically, so there is no way around it being untrue. if anything, the "somehow' makes it come off more like mike is acknowledging how outlandish it would be to know he loves her 2 seconds after seeing her for the first time in the woods in a rain storm, but claiming its the truth anyways. removing "somehow" makes it more so that mike is really leaning into it and pushing that its the truth, desperately wanting her to believe him. it would make sense that he wouldn't preface that with acknowledgement of how crazy it is, because he wants to seem assured and confident that its the truth, giving el no reason to doubt him.

i definitely think mike had romantic feelings for el, but i just don't think that ever crossed the line into true romantic love. he definitely grew to love el and appreciate her and care for her, but that was never tied to his romantic feelings for her. his true love for her is just not romantic. their relationship is built off of insecurity and attachment, which is why they stayed together for so long. i just don't think he was ever in love with her, nor was she in love with him. i don't argue with ppl who say it was a first love situation, because thats accurate enough. but i think a better description is puppy love. just like stancy vs jancy. stancy was immature, teenage puppy love built on physicality and a desire to feel normal. jancy was true love, built on natural chemistry, trust, respect, and emotional connection.

i just cant get behind saying mike fell out of love with el, cause i really don't think thats the case. i think they rlly highlight this in s3 with the mlvn breakup and byler fight. mike says el is the "most important thing to him in the world'. but, after she breaks up with him he does nothing. he goofs off with his friends in his basement and complains. he doesn't go after her or try to stop her, he doesn't go to her house to apologize, nothing. he does, however, do all those things when he and will fight and will leaves. i think its clearly implying who is more important to mike, just in the sense that one is true love and one is not. mike can't stand the idea of will being upset with him and potentially losing him because of it, it eats at him and he wants to make things right immediately. meanwhile he doesn't take his breakup wth el seriously at all. there is just no way mike is in love with her in these scenarios. and im sorry, but there's no way you can be in love with someone after knowing them for five days. i really just think he never was, he only thought he was.

and yesssss about the script!! mike states it as fact, like he has not a shadow of a doubt that its true. and we never see el soothe this insecurity of his after she finds out. we don't even see them speak. will is the only one who has ever addressed mikes insecurities and made him feel better. he is the only one who considers mike's feelings and stands up for him (And he doesn't deserve that.)

#byler #stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #byler analysis #stranger things 4 #milkvan is bones #anti milkvan

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talenlee · 3 hours ago

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3e: Magical Rings

Rings. Simple circles of metal, worn on the fingers or toes or sometimes in the ears, these delicate pieces of human artistry are some of the earliest examples of creative expression we know can last beyond our lives, and therefore, serve as some of the most iconic examples of the way we use our signifiers to craft narratives of our lives. The promise ring, the engagement ring, the wedding ring, which are of course, all the same thing but companies want us to gild that lily forever, rings serve as a circle present in so many stories to symbolise a bonding, a binding, an eternity that we commit to in our lives and that we can only hold up as long as we continue to believe in that which the ring symbolises. Every ring can be called a ring of power, because it is the belief in stories we imbue in the ring that serves to give it that power.

And as any good item with significance, Dungeons & Dragons decided to start jamming a mechanical system onto them.

This is by no means a new thing for 3rd edition D&D; since earliest versions of the game, I’m sure there were people making ‘magical rings’ important on day dot. This is a game for hacks who want to remind you of the cool fantasy books we’ve read and back when the game was brand new, there really were only so many fantasy books that could be considered cool. Unbelievably, people considered Lord of The Rings one of them, yeah, I know, and apparently, they enjoyed those books and implemented their ideas into their own work. Wild, I know. Point is, it wouldn’t surprise me if D&D’s vision of magical rings predate D&D. What 3rd edition brought, in my experience reading the rulebooks, is a sense of acceleration and omnipresence.

The rules around rings in 3rd edition onwards is that you can wear two rings, and those rings will give you some magical benefit or advantage based on what they’re supposed to do. This is where stacking bonuses tend to rear their head for newer players. After all if you have a Ring of Protection that improves your armour by +1, and you have ten fingers, and those rings are cheap, why not buy a few of them, wear them on different fingers and get a lot better armour? The game saw you coming and instead, the rules limit these bonuses by type and also limits you to one ring per hand.

My time with 2e, towards the end, represent the loot cavalcade that was Baldur’s Gate 2, in which the world is lousy with magical gear which is designed to make it possible to approach a reasonably open world of quests. In this case, you wind up with enough magical rings you just start selling them in sacks, to the point where it can honestly not be worth picking them up in the early game because who’s gunna carry that malarkey? I do not want to pretend that 2ed lacked for this situation. Instead I want to describe the way that 3rd edition brought the idea of Unspecial Rings to everywhere. Almost every resource in the game that players got access to would bring new magical items, new feats, new character options to the board, and with that, you’d see some new rings.

When creating new magical items, the game provided a set of rules that described things that magical items could do, and the general family of effects they could have. Weapons, you might not be surprised, were good at making you better at attacking, and did special things when they hit things. Armour increased your defensive stats and made you better at surviving or enduring things. This could have some interesting side effects, some things that were judged on vibes — like, a trident that meant you could breathe underwater while you had it was probably okay, but it was definitely less okay than a suit of armour that gave you a swim speed and also meant you could breathe underwater. These were all put together by a complicatedly designed set of formulas that tried to price effects based on spells and then on the duration or effect of those spells.

What this meant is that knowing the best spells meant you knew the best ways to break these rules in weird outlier ways. An example that came up commonly was the ‘ring of true strike’ design a lot of players would conceive of, where you would make a ring that cast the spell true strike on use (ie, whenever you attacked). The formula for this implied that as a 1st level spell, cast as a 1st level wizard, this should cost 1x1x2000 gp. Since true strike granted you a +20 to hit on the next attack you meant, this item would obviously trivialising hitting things and that’s pretty nuts.

(Please ignore that a wand of true strike was a level 1 item for 750 gp that would give you this effect for 50 attacks, but only if you were a wizard or a character with the appropriate spell on your list.)

Anyway, the math kicked in at this point and looked for the most expensive way to price the effect. This ‘ring of true strike’ was granting a +20 to hit, and that was priced differently to the 1st level spell that gave it to you, meaning that instead of 2,000 gp, it cost you 20x60x2,000 gp, or 2.4 million gp, which is, uh, a lot more than 2,000. This is because to craft a tohit bonus like that, you needed to be 3 times the level of the bonus, meaning that you needed to find a level 60 wizard who had the time to waste on your nonsense.

Point is that things were examined in terms of their effect and their style. Armour did things that weapons didn’t do. Some weapons could improve your armour class but they needed a good flavour for it — like deflecting something, or blocking hits in melee. Staffs could store spells, wands could store spells but wear out, scrolls could store spells but only once, amulets could protect you in some way like improving a saving throw… and rings…

Rings could do anything.

Where most of the magic items have rules in them that make them hard to use in most situations, or gave them specific types of things they were best at replicating, rings could do anything. Permanent spell effects, on-use spell effects, permanent bonuses, a ring could be a real everythingamajig.

This was such a problem because it meant that even low level rings would wind up being useful, handy even to have around. A ring of sustenance turned off your need for food, for good, so you should probably have one of those for long distance travel. It’s real cheap, after all, and all it takes to swap it off is to swap a ring on a finger. A ring of feather falling could be jammed on a finger while you fell if you were falling far enough. And a ring of jumping could be handy for mobility, and none of these things were particularly expensive (by the standards of an adventurer) by the middle of the game.

The really cracked thing though?

These rings were so good and so worth keeping around in a big keyring for handy applications most of the time because they let non-wizards access all the handy utility stuff wizards had all the time from day 1. When a category of magical item is desireable because it lets you replicate something that the wizard can already do for a fraction of the cost – oh hey, there’s that wands conversation all over again! – you may have a problem class in your game.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#DnD 3e #Dungeons &amp; Dragons #Games

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socksual-innuendos · 2 days ago

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I've always said that Raul's quest endings seem a bit misplaced/misdirected and I feel like it's time I finally get around to explaining why.

So, in reality, I think given Raul's backstory and the situation we find him in, the retirement ending doesn't make sense to me. Accept you're an old man and leave the gun slinging to the new generation....maybe, for someone who's actually long hauled fighting and not done scraps only when emotions ran high.

Raul makes cracks about being an old, grumpy man, and while we know ghoulification slows aging/he ghouled when he was in his 30s, "being old" seems like a red herring for his real conflict; isolation.

Raul isolates himself like crazy. We see this in his shack, his town wandering, the outskirts of communities, his "Old Miguel" persona. Even his sees-you-as-Her obsession with Claudia screams outside looking in. He craves community in some fashion and he denies himself it for several reasons. And honestly, denies might he too strong of a word here. The man has 2 charisma, he very well might not know how to integrate into a post apocalyptic society.

I say keep Raul's Ghost Vaquero end as one option, one that reinforces this outsider burden he holds fast to but gives him a new purpose as a ghoul in the post apocalypse, and the other end is where he ends up part of a community, realizing that even if his home and family have gone that there are ways to rebuild with others. More so, either toss retirement out the window completely or make it the neutral ending when the courier aquires him as a companion but doesn't complete his quest.

I still do like the idea of him seeming to think himself too old for things, but he should also self limit when being talked into a "potential" retirement end. Raul doesnt know what he wants yet, he's a pre war man who suddenly had expectations, tradition, and family knocked out of him in several large mushroom clouds.

Retirement sounds Correct for a man his age, even though the proper thing to do at his age is to be a century past dead. But he doesn't feel like he's of retiring time. His knees creak, and his back hurts, and this shit started before he ghouled because he was a man in his 30s who worked on his family's ranch since being knee-high and despite physically feeling like he could keep going, emotionally he has no where to put it.

There is this misplaced sense of self Raul has, where he was very likely not even the spare to his family's ranch (which, I will reiterate again. His family is well off to be running a horse ranch) but he had some inherent place in society via his relationships with other people. He grew up with enough privilege and social guidelines to get by with 2 charisma (assuming this wasn't skill degradation post-war). This would need to be rehauled not only after the bombs dropped, but once societies started reforming in the post apocalypse.

Anyway, I think Raul's two endings best fit him as

Ghost Vaquero, the vengeful spirit of Hidalgo Ranch. This is to work in such a way that it almost strip him of his current identity, taking on all the baggage of his loss and forming it into a driving force for bounty hunting. Actual justice results may vary.

Old Mechanics End. Raul allows himself to settle into a community proper, allows himself to aquaint and even befriend people, and occupationally becomes their mechanic/trade mentor with a bit of gun slinging as needed for town defense.

Which my last addition to this (i am ranting now) is that it seems hilarious to me that being multifaceted with mechanics and being quick with a gun was suddenly placed in an either or scenario. Raul is a boon to have in any community. Man can shoot and man can repair, literally perfect. It makes sense his vanilla retirement end doesnt allow him gunslinging because you basically damn him to depression routine but get him some SSRIs and a knitting circle and he can have his wrench and gun cake and eat it too.

Anyway thanks for coming to my Ghoul Talk, AMA about my boy

#raul tejada #raul fnv

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dukeofdelirium · 7 hours ago

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I’m sorry, but you are objectively wrong in everything you just stated, and I won’t stand for spreading lies on my posts lol.

Chandler Riggs was fired, he did not want to leave The Walking Dead. He is on record stating such for years, and so is his father, who made several pissed off posts online about. Chandler Riggs has said in no uncertain terms that he did not find out that Carl Grimes was even being killed off until a couple of weeks before the death episode was filmed.

The person who made the decision to kill Carl Grimes is Scott Gimple, the previous show runner. He is literally on record saying that it was 100% HIS idea. He got on The Talking Dead back in the day and admitted that much, so idk what you think you’re talking about, but you are wrong.

There was zero narrative reasoning behind the death. Scott Gimple literally said he chose to kill off Carl Grimes because of a “plot hole” in the comic book. He claimed he couldn’t figure out why Negan was spared, and why Rick didn’t kill him. He said killing Carl off would be Rick’s motivation to spare Negan’s life.

This makes absolutely zero sense considering Rick didn’t have to sacrifice his son to spare Negan in the comic, and his reasonings for saving Negan were outright stated: he wanted to make an example of him in the new society and he also spared him for Glenn, who in the comic had never killed a person.

Don’t try to defend shitty writing to me. The reality behind Carl Grimes death was that AMC didn’t want to pay Chandler Riggs an adult salary. Chandler Riggs father stated as much back in 2017.

And here is a video from 2023 of Chandler literally saying he was fired LMAO

Scott Gimple got on TV and said “I killed Carl Grimes in order to follow the comic book” ??? Lmao huh 😭 you mean the comic book where he becomes the MAIN CHARACTER? The fact is that Scott Gimple just said all that to cover up the fact they fired Chandler over pay. Also, the creator of TWD, Robert Kirkman, was suing them at this time and in said lawsuit stated that AMC was exploiting his comic book and his ideas. So then randomly they decide to kill Carl Grimes? Robert’s favorite character? Coincidence? Yeah right. You can claim you’re defending TWD but you’re defending something that is indefensible. Do it somewhere else.

Chandler Riggs father made additional posts which I will quote right now:

“Just to clarify once and for all: Chandler didn't want to leave the show. He had been accepted at UGA, and would complete school while working (online when filming) as he had done high school for the last 8 years.

Scott Gimple personally called him and said on a conference call in April that they needed him for 3 years. Chandler agreed to a 2 year contract, which was typical. 1 year guaranteed and the next one at their option, which was also typical. He signed the deal, graduated from high school and went back to work. He bought a house near the set and enrolled at UGA so that he could be close to work since we had been commuting nearly 2 hours each way all these years.

It was the middle of June, his 18th birthday was coming up in a couple of weeks, 5 episodes were filmed, and they asked for my wife and I to both be at a meeting with Chandler- which was a little odd. It made me nervous but he and his manager assured me it was to plan for filming schedule, etc. Scott Gimple was the only one there and he told us that Carl would be gone in a few episodes. Chandler was absolutely devastated. I was disappointed Scott had been dishonest with a 17 year old making life decisions and waited to tell us.”

AMC forced him to take down this post hours after he made it. But this is the truth. Chandler was fired. By the time the posts were deleted, the truth was out and the fans knew what was up. Which is why Scott Gimple was replaced as show runner, because over 100k people petitioned for it because fans were rightfully pissed that not only was this such an extreme deviation from the source material, but it was also fucking with a kids life.

And as a result, the TV show lost the majority of its viewership. Who woulda thought

Carl Grimes death in the TV show will literally NEVERRRR make sense idc lmfao. Yeah I know it’s been years but it still pisses me the fuck off so bad when I stop to think about it.

The show runners whole justification was that the comic book had a “plot hole” and that killing Carl was his great solution to said plot hole. Never mind the fact that the comic book DIDNT have a plot hole in the first damn place, but even if it DID… even if it did, your first thought was to kill off Rick’s son? Huh?

I’m sorry, in what fucking world does that make even the slightest sense? The Walking Dead was always about a father and his son, and how much the father was willing to do to ensure his son’s survival. If you kill the son, the entire story, and every single thing Rick ever did, is suddenly pointless.

Also, don’t even get me started on the whole adapting random pieces of the comic book but providing no context for it. You can’t just adapt a comic panel frame by frame and then expect fans to love it because “see! we did that cool comic thing!” when nothing else about it is like said comic book.

Oh, and what a wasted potential for the show killing Carl off really was. He had by far the most interesting storyline in the comic book (which the show adapted… for some reason) but no one gaf about it bc it was with characters that didn’t deserve the storyline and that the story wasn’t written for lol.

#the walking dead #twd #chandler riggs #Carl grimes

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